


Enmity

by beetle



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: LOTR, M/M, The Hobbit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the LJ hobbit_kink prompt: '"Ever since I met you, I have admired you more than any[one]... I have ever met since... I met you." I want a Thorin/Bilbo Declaration of Feelings scene in which Bilbo says this. Because let's face it, it's classic Bilbo.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enmity

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Theirs.

Eventually, Bilbo simply gets tired of feeling Thorin's inscrutable, but brooding gaze on him nonstop and, one evening not many days after their run-in with Azog the Defiler, Bilbo approaches the leader of the company, who is leaning against a tree.  
  
Watching Bilbo, as usual.  
  
Bilbo can feel those dark blue eyes on him the whole way across the campsite, marking and measuring him. Probably finding him at fault, despite what had been said after the Eagles had deposited them safely away from the Orcs and Wargs. He sighs.  
  
“Master Thorin,” he says brightly, as he gets within speaking distance of the Dwarf-king. One thick, dark eyebrow raises in question, and Thorin straightens, nodding once.  
  
“Mister Baggins.”  
  
This is said gruffly, with little of the warmth Thorin had displayed several days ago, in the wake of the Orc attack. Bilbo still remembers the feel of that amazing  _hug_ —and knows he will till the day he dies—and the way Thorin had breathed:  _I've never been more wrong_ , so hotly in his ear. . . .  
  
“May I . . . speak with you for a moment? In private, that is?” Bilbo adds, glancing around at the others, who're no doubt occupied with their tasks for getting the campsite set up, but who also, no doubt, have an ear for what's said within their hearing.  
  
Thorin nods again and sweeps a hand out, indicating that Bilbo should go before him, whither he will.  
  
“Er, right. This way.” Bilbo, turns on his heel and marches off a little north and west, back the way they'd come. Thorin is as silent and heavy a presence behind him as a thundercloud would be above him.  
  
Sighing again, Bilbo wonders if it's too late to simply say  _never mind!_  and let the Dwarf-king go back to his staring and silence.  
  
He wonders that, in fact, for the quarter of a mile he marches them away from the campsite.  
  
“I think this far is private enough for our business . . . whatever it is,” Thorin says, putting a hand on Bilbo's shoulder half-way across a small, sheltered glade. Bilbo starts and stops at the same time, yelping, and Thorin removes his hand.  
  
When Bilbo turns to face him, Thorin's smiling ruefully.  
  
“Y-yes, I suppose here will do quite nicely for our little . . . talk.” Bilbo tries to smile back, but it falls flat—feels more like a grimace than a smile.  
  
Thorin clears his throat and that smile disappears. “And what is it you wish to speak with me about?”  
  
“See, the thing is—” Bilbo wrings his hands and finally crosses his arms so as to prevent his fidgeting. “The thing is . . . do you . . . have some problem with . . . me?” Bilbo blushes and looks away from the sudden furrowing of Thorin's brow. “I mean . . . is there some issue that's sprung up that needs to be, er, dealt with?”  
  
“Not that I'm aware of,” Thorin says slowly, quietly. “Why do you ask?”  
  
Bilbo risks a look at Thorin's face: blank as stone and just as readable. Right, then.  
  
“Because I notice that—“ and here Bilbo flounders. How does one tell someone else that one has noticed that same someone else staring at them rather more often than is usual? “That is, I'm just wondering if I've done something to displease you again? Since the Eagles brought us here, I can't help but feel as if there's something I've done or said that's made you see me differently, and not in a good way, as I'd initially thought. I'm wondering if you've maybe begun to distrust me or doubt me again, and if you do, then I feel it's best we have it out in the open. Enmity between us is, of course, not good, but the only thing worse would be  _secret_  enmity. And, of course, if we at least have it out now, there may be a way to resolve the issue without further, er. . . .”  
  
“Enmity?” Thorin asks, smiling again, wryly, this time, and Bilbo nods eagerly, blushing.  
  
“Yes! Further enmity! Very bad thing, that—don't you agree?”  
  
“Aye, I agree,” Thorin says, sighing heavily, his smiled fading. In that moment he looks older than his years. But the moment passes, and then he just looks like  _Thorin_ , once more. “But what makes you think I'm feeling enmity toward you, Mister Baggins? Has my behavior toward you been anything less than professional?”  
  
“No! No, of course not!” Bilbo hastens to reassure Thorin, who's taken a step closer to him. And he was already close enough before that Bilbo could smell his scent: wool and steel and  _woods_.  
  
Bilbo takes a step back, shaking his head to clear it. “Master Thorin, you've been nothing but professional to me since we arrived here, and I thank you for that. It's just that, well—“  
  
Thorin takes another step closer and reaches out, laying one heavy hand on Bilbo's shoulder. Bilbo shivers slightly and completely loses track of his thoughts. “Er—ah—“ he stammers, and Thorin's smile changes to something almost . . . kindly.  
  
“Perhaps it is I who should be asking you if . . . I have done something to make  _you_  doubt  _me_  . . . have I, Mister Baggins?”  
  
And looking into Thorin's eyes while trying to collect his thoughts? Is perhaps not such a great idea, because Bilbo says the very first thought that's cogent enough to come rolling out of his mouth. “Well, there's . . . the staring. At me. All the time. Watching me constantly—“  
  
Thorin pulls his hand away as if he's been burned, and Bilbo immediately misses its weight and warmth.  
  
“I—“ Thorin's jaw sets stubbornly and he tilts his chin up, his eyes narrowed. “ You have my word that nothing between us has changed, Mister Baggins. You've stood by me and mine, saved my life . . . and for that I'll always be grateful. More than mere words can express. You are as much a part of this company as any Dwarf, and if I've made you feel otherwise, at least in the past few days—“  
  
“You haven't—not  _really_ ,” Bilbo says, and that's mostly the truth. “It's just that I wonder why you watch me? Are you, for some reason, suspicious of me or my motives?”  
  
Thorin shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “It's not that, I swear. And I also swear that I'll trouble you no more with my . . . watchfulness.” That rueful smile makes another brief appearance and Thorin bows deeply, then straightens, starting to turn away. “My apologies for distressing you, Mister Baggins.”  
  
“You haven't—distressed me. And please, call me Bilbo—if anyone s-should, it's you,” Bilbo adds, suddenly nervous and blushing once more. “After all, we've saved each other's lives.”  
  
Thorin pauses in the act of turning back the way they'd come. When he looks at Bilbo again, his eyes are intent, intense, and wary. “I don't think that's a very good idea, Mister Baggins.”  
  
Bilbo frowns, and this time, he's the one to take a step closer, while Thorin takes a step back. “Why not? I mean, I don't mind still calling you Master Thorin, if you like, but even Kili's stopped calling me Mister Boggins.” Trying on that smile again, Bilbo is surprised when Thorin returns it wearily, but genuinely.  
  
“You Hobbits don't stand much on formality, do you?” Thorin asks, and Bilbo shakes his head.  
  
“Nope. And certainly not after an adventure's been shared.” Bilbo neglects to mention that the sharing of adventures, however bonding they may be, are generally frowned upon by the better class of Hobbits. “ _Please,_  call me Bilbo.”  
  
Looking torn, Thorin glances down for a moment, his long, wild hair throwing his face into dramatic shadows. Then when he looks up, the last light of sunset paints his heroic face a ruddy gold.  
  
 _Oh, my . . . he really is . . ._ beautiful, Bilbo realizes—not for the first time, but certainly the most powerful time—with something like a punch to the gut, in that the realization knocks the air out of him and leaves him winded, suddenly gasping for air.  
  
“ _Bilbo_ ,” Thorin says as if tasting the word—then he notices Bilbo gasping and a look of alarm crosses his face. And he closes the distance between them, obviously concerned, one heavy hand settling on Bilbo's shoulder, the other tilting his face up so Thorin can look into his eyes.  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
Bilbo, who is just fine but for that sudden shortness of breath, nods once, careful not to dislodge Thorin's hand. “Just—got a little winded, there. Dunno what came over me,” he lies and laughs breathlessly, gazing into Thorin's face, into his eyes, unable to look away.  
  
And Thorin, for his part, is gazing right back. In the same way he stares at Bilbo when he thinks Bilbo doesn't notice. And Bilbo suddenly understands—or thinks he does. But Thorin couldn't _possibly_ —  
  
“Wh-why  _is_  it that you stare at me so much?” Bilbo exhales lowly, though even as he asks, he thinks he might know.  _Of course, I could be and probably am completely wrong. Wishful thinking of the worst sort._  “If you're not displeased with me, or suspicious of me, then why watch me?”  
  
Thorin blinks, and something in the harsh, unforgiving planes of his face softens for just a moment . . . then his face sets itself once more in that unreadble mask, and he lets go of Bilbo, turning away again. He pauses half-way across the glade, one hand on his sword.  
  
“I cannot believe you to be so sheltered or foolish as to not have guessed why I stare at you, Mister Baggins.” Thorin says flatly, his tone as rueful as his smiles had been. ”I stare for the same reason anyone would stare at a comely, brave young Hobbit. But as I've said, I'll not bother you anymore with my staring.”  
  
“Wait!” Bilbo calls, hurrying to cross the glade. Thorin has paused just at the edge of the glade and Bilbo stops just shy of Thorin, one hand outstretched and hovering near the Dwarf-king's shoulder. He doesn't know what to do or what to say next, only that if he lets Thorin leave this glade now . . . he may very well regret it for the rest of his life.  
  
However long  _that_  is.  
  
“Wait,” he says again, and this time, his hand falls on Thorin's shoulder. The muscles under Bilbo's hand stiffen, but he doesn't let that intimidate him. “See, the thing is,” he begins, not knowing  _what_  will come out next, but knowing it's a damned sight better than the  _nothing_  he'd been working with only a few moments ago. “The thing is . . . ever since I met you, I have admired you more than anyone I have  _ever_  met since . . . well, since I met  _you_.  
  
“In fact, in the time  _since_  meeting you, every day we spend together has done nothing more than drive home just how much I admire you. How much I look up to you. And how much I . . . bloody hell, how much I've  _wanted_  you. I may not stare at you the way I'd like to—and believe me, I'd like nothing more than to spend my nights watching firelight flicker off your face and my days watching sunlight limn your features in gold—but if I did and could, the reason would be, well the same reason anyone would stare at a handsome, brave Dwarf. And if you're staring at me because you really think I'm comely, then please, stare away. If I may have the pleasure of finally staring back.”  
  
In reply, Thorin says and does nothing, and Bilbo gets nervous.  _Very_  nervous. So nervous he starts to stammer something about absolutely nothing, his hand falling away from Thorin's shoulder as he takes a few steps back.  
  
“—pretty much the reason I even came on this grand adventure we're having. Because of  _you_. Because I couldn't bear for you to venture off into the wide world without me knowing where you were, or being there to look after you—“  
  
Bilbo covers his mouth with both his hands to stop the stream of ridiculousness flowing from it. Thorin starts to turn toward him slowly, and Bilbo takes another few cautious steps back, wondering if he's said far too much.  
  
Thorin's face is still set in that unreadable mask, yet his eyes are anything but. They're still intent and intense, yes, but . . . hopeful, as well as wary.  
  
“This is not a jest?” he asks hesitantly. “Because such a jest would not be appreciated, Mister Baggins.”  
  
Bilbo shakes his head  _no_. “No, no jest. And it's  _Bilbo_ , if you don't mind.” This time, when he tries on a smile, it works just fine. And Thorin returns it without rue . . . though it's still very much a wry smile.  
  
“So . . . you've been wanting to stare back at me?” he articulates slowly, as if wanting to make certain he's gotten it correct. Bilbo turns three separate shades of red. Simultaneously. But he nods in admission.  
  
“It's been an exercise in self-control since the moment I opened my front door and saw you standing there. I didn't think that my feel—my attraction would ever be reciprocated. That someone like you could want someone like me.” Bilbo sighs, looking down at his furry feet for a minute, then back up when Thorin's boots hove into view, bumping the tips of his toes.  
  
The Dwarf-king is, when Bilbo looks up, close enough to share air with.  
  
Thorin's eyes are gentle and fond as he reaches up and ghosts his fingers across Bilbo's smooth cheek. “Someone like me can and does want someone like you. And has, from the moment you opened your front door, and I saw you standing there,” he says softly—for Thorin, anyway. “You were—you  _are_  beautiful, Mister Baggins. You grow more beautiful to me, every day. And if I stared, it was only because that was all of you I could hope to have.”  
  
Bilbo swallows, and says something that takes, to his way of thinking, more bravery than facing down that Orc had: “If I may be so bold, Thorin . . . you can have as much of me as you want.”  
  
Thorin's smile turns into a grin that reminds Bilbo of Fili and Kili. His dark blue eyes flash with humor and something else that makes Bilbo shiver because all the heat in his body has decided to pool at his groin.  
  
“In that case, Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin murmurs, leaning closer, till his hair blocks the sunset from Bilb's sight like a sable curtain. He tilts Bilbo's face up to his own and the tips of their noses brush, followed by their lips. “I think I'll take  _all_  of you.”


End file.
